


Concert Crashers

by lucifers_buttocks



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Concerts, Gen, Junkrat is an Overexcited Fan, Lúcio just Wants to Have Fun, M/M, bomb threats, boombox, maybe a continuation soon??, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7257235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_buttocks/pseuds/lucifers_buttocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While clearing out the audience of wild, annoying, and otherwise distracting concert-goers is a “genius” idea, Roadhog suggests the sudden absence might tip off security. In fact, he adds through the muffled leather of his mask, explosive threats in an enclosed building might do more harm than good if the general goal is to have Lúcio Correia dos Santos’ entire attention solely on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concert Crashers

**Author's Note:**

> my great friend kayla (faunprincess95) requested for me, "Junkrat convinces Roadhog to raid a concert that Lucio is performing at only to make all the attendants leave so he's the only one in the audience because he's a huge fan." and i love Dying. disclaimer: ive never been a big concert before but i Tried my Best

Roadhog raises quite a few impressive points as they wander toward the front entrance with ticket stubs in their hands. None of which he actually agrees with, but the concept behind each separate sentence is pretty inspiring. While clearing out the audience of wild, annoying, and otherwise distracting concert-goers is a “genius” idea, Roadhog suggests the sudden absence _might_ tip off security. In fact, he adds through the muffled leather of his mask, explosive threats in an enclosed building might do more harm than good if the general goal is to have Lúcio Correia dos Santos’ entire attention solely on him.

Junkrat begs to differ. “Listen, ‘Hog, I’m tellin’ you this is gonna work. What’s with all this doubt?” He reaches up and pats the back of his palm against Roadhog’s chest good-naturedly and hops onto the sidewalk. The best thing about crashing a concert halfway through its set list, he muses, is the lack of lines. Something about staying quiet and still in single-file sends uncomfortable jitters up his spine - even the notion causes tremors to slight through his body. He shudders and walks forward, switching his attention toward a guard blocking the entrance. A familiar distaste rises on the tip of his tongue. “Here you are,” Junkrat interjects before the security guard can open his mouth. Taking Roadhog’s ticket from his hand, he raises two sweaty stubs and waves them pridefully. “Two tickets to see the Brazilian bloke front and center stage.”

Despite how polite he’s behaving, Junkrat notices right off-hand how the guard tenses and shrinks away. “I’m going to have to ask you two to come quietly and wait for p-police enforcements.” There’s a pressured waver in his words, like he’s attempting to control some part of his speech. Any lingering confusion in Junkrat’s mood bleeds into surprise, and then broils into dense irritation. Local and international police squads are an absolute _riot_ , but this isn’t something he’s looking for right now.

“Police? What the hell are you callin’ the police for? We ain’t done nothin’ wrong, swear it!” Junkrat bounces on the heels of his feet and flimsily lifts the hem of his battered shirt, which reveals bare scorch marks and bruises coloring his torso. “Y’see? You can check us right now, we don’t got anythin’ on us! Right, ‘Hog?” At the mention of his name, Roadhog comes alive. His companion grunts and approaches the startled security guard and, with something of a graceful motion, headbutts him with a loud enough knock that leaves Junkrat wincing. The body collapses against the outside wall and crumples onto the pavement. “Well, _that_ ’ll do it.” He laughs and tosses the stubs over his shoulder. No skin off his back as long as he gets to continue according to plan.

The second the heavy double doors swing shut behind them, Junkrat can _feel_ the pulse of Lúcio’s electric rhythm thrum in his ribcage. There’s an intoxicating beat within the notes; it’s the kind of music that makes him wish he was more into the liberation of _whatever_ group Lúcio was appealing for. A crowd’s cheers and chatter accompany the tune somewhere close by. “Can’t wait to see the guy’s face when it’s just us two waitin’ for him.” He idly remarks, picturing the surprise and inevitable pleasure Lúcio will express when the attendees melt away until he sees only his biggest fan (and his biggest fan’s best friend) left. He’s not an idiot - no doubt the musician might raise a few significant inquiries about where the rest of his fanbase disappeared off to, but eventually the concert will start where it left off and Junkrat will have Lúcio and his phenomenal music all to himself.

Behind him, Roadhog huffs a slow, deep sigh. He must be getting excited, too.

Practically beaming, Junkrat follows the noise down a decorated corridor and opens the doors to a well-packed stadium. Almost immediately, the scent of sweat and lightly traced alcohol wafts out from the massive gathering, and above, he registers the spotlights shining and glimmering in beat to the ricocheting music notes. His very bones tremble with waves of the humid heat and the towering, overwhelming volume of the concert, but it sparks a surge of adrenaline that leaves Junkrat receptively shaking with the thrill. Up ahead, elevated safe from the thousands of greedy fans and between the arched speakers mirrored on either side of the stage, stands Lúcio Correia dos Santos.

“There he is!” Junkrat shouts over the roar. Roadhog presses lightly against his shoulder in acknowledgement. “And what a _beaut_ this place is! Gonna look even better once it’s e-vac’d!” Without awaiting for his companion’s limited response, Junkrat erupts in a fit of laughter and circles behind Roadhog, digging an elbow into the soft of his best friend’s back. “Go on, don’t be shy! I’m right behind you!” Roadhog growls something loud and incomprehensible in reply, but shoves forward with violent enthusiasm and paves a path through the thick of the bodies standing in the way. _This_ , he understands, is the reason he keeps around the big lug. Definitely not because he’s a sparkling conversationalist.

Midway through the gathering, Junkrat pats on his companion’s shoulder and hurries around so he can stand in front and admire how much closer he is toward his favorite musician. Even with the blinding highlights and dizzying air, Lúcio’s visage is as breathtaking as his pictures on artist covers. His brunet dreads bounce in time to the music beneath his fingers and his lips stretch into a wide, charming grin. His eyes, mostly shielded by a pair of oddly colored visors, glint animatedly amongst the concert-goers. His eyes catch onto something just a hair above Junkrat’s own vision, and then (to his own half-hearted disbelief) their eyes meet.

It’s only lasts a split second. By the time he registers the startling connection, Lúcio has passed his attention elsewhere. Junkrat shuffles listlessly and quells the urge to share the experience to Roadhog. Junkers have their own underground communication for everything under the sun, but he feels a tinge of apprehension when he imagines describing how his heart pounded a different shade of red when Lúcio glanced at him. He isn’t certain Roadhog would understand (or try to, anyway). He diverts his attention toward the attendees surrounding him and figures now is as good a time as any to crash the party.

Junkrat stands on his toes for a moment before balancing himself back on his peg, giggling with unmasked anticipation. He cups his calloused hands around his mouth and shouts loud enough for his throat to ache, “ _Bomb_!” The first to react are the ones closest to them. Some people stutter to a halt, muscles tensed and nerves frying within seconds. Others - the survivalists, Junkrat considers them - pause for the faintest moment before pushing wildly and shouting in fear. At this, layers of the crowd stir from their euphoric trance and become affected with worry. “Got’a bomb _right here_!” Junkrat shouts, laughing, waving his hands. Although he has nothing in his palms, it’s a sight to watch civilians struggle to climb over one another in a rushed effort to leave as fast as physically possible. The panic erupts in waves, and before he knows it, security guards are pushing into the stadium and trying to direct the chaos outside of harm’s way.

In the state of flurry motion, the music cuts off in its own frozen terror, and Junkrat raises his head just in time to see Lúcio’s smile falter. The musician lifts his visors and scans the area with something akin to shock and fear. “Everyone--” Loud as it is, Lúcio’s voice sounds every bit as pleasant as it comes across through the digital chords in his album. “Everyone please exit safely--” The mic cuts off sharply, and a few seconds later, two suits with an earpiece each move across the stage and gesture toward Lúcio with stiff hands and firm mouths.

A stranger bumps hard into Junkrat and stomps on his foot as they make their way join with the rest of the herd. “Oi!” He shouts after the man and tries to catch his eye, but the stranger never looks back. “Watch it! You’re liable to get _blown up_ with manners like that!” Huffing in annoyance, Junkrat takes a glimpse back up toward the stage and nearly loses his footing as he witnesses Lúcio being led behind part of a curtain and disappearing off the stage. “Wait-- Wait, wait, wait, what the heck is goin’ on? They can’t do that!” He yells, waving his hand toward where he last saw his favorite musician. “That’s not fair!” He spins around toward Roadhog and only pauses in his pacing when numerous distinct whines of police sirens approach the venue at all angles.

Roadhog grumbles his words like dry gravel.

“Hey, don’t get cranky with me.” Junkrat crosses his arms and tries not to dwell on the immediate regret of leaving all of his bombs hanging in a sewer nearby. He hadn’t wanted to _actually_ threaten Lúcio with the presence of a few live grenades, but now that everyone else has gone and messed up his plans, he realizes Roadhog is right. His gear would certainly aid in their predicament right now. “We’ll handle this. It’s all just a big _misunderstanding_. Things like this happen all the time.” Later on, between fleeing from the police and partially enjoying the white-hot singe of bullets lodging into his flesh, Junkrat realizes that things like this do not happen all the time.


End file.
